


Wouldn't You Do Anything For The One You Love?

by TopHatQuinn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Cheating, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Love, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHatQuinn/pseuds/TopHatQuinn
Summary: Celia has gone missing and Jackson will go to any length to get her back. What if the situation isn't too black and while?





	Wouldn't You Do Anything For The One You Love?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work I wrote a few months ago. While it is very short, I am proud of it and I hope you enjoy !

Jackson glared down the door like the door itself had grabbed his wife away. Damn whoever took her away. Damn anyone who thought they could cross him and get away with it. The steel door was bolted shut in front of him, silver screws mocking him with beady eyes for not being competent enough to get through. He knew this was where she was. He’d tracked her phone and a small red pin had shown her to be right behind this very door. He’d tried banging on the metal contraption. He’d tried looking for some kind of second entrance, but there were no windows, no other openings. He’d also tried pacing. Hoping that he could come up with some other way. There had to be something! It was kind of like a dance. Bang. Search, Pace. Bang. Search. Pace. Over and over until his knucks torn and bruised and the ground was covered in permanent scuff marks from his shoes.  
He’d screamed as well, yelling profanities and threats and anything that could get the door to open.  
And eventually, after that excruciating half hour of pacing and glaring and screaming, the door opened. Jackson was up on his feet immediately, facing an average-height man with calm smoky brown eyes. He couldn’t have been much older than 30. The man did not look the type to steal people’s wives off the street. In fact, he looked like the kind of person that would be taken off the street. He snorted at the thought Jackson had him pinned by his shoulders before the man could say a word.  
“Where is she?” He growled. It was gravely and demanding and was hardly a question when put into his words.  
The man met his eyes levelly like he had nothing to fear. Jackson would prove him so very wrong - as soon as he knew that his wife was safe and in his arms.  
“She’s sleeping,” the man said, his face matching the utter calmness in his voice. He looked, bored  
Jackson was infuriated. And because he was infuriated, he gripped the man's head and bashed it into the brick wall behind him, causing satisfying rivulets of warm blood cascading out of his skull.  
“Where the fuck are you keeping her?” He was losing control and he knew it. His arms were shaking with rage, shaking with annoyance that there was blood on them staining his fingers, and the bastard wasn’t doing anything to help his case. The man simply smiled and gripped Jackson’s arm, smearing the blood. Jackson knew the man was in pain through - his teeth were clenched and his eyes were watering. That at least gave him some pleasure.  
“Look, I don’t want to start anything with you. But if you wake her, we’re going to have a problem.” His voice was weaker now, and Jackson could hear the blissful struggle - the blind confidence - in his speech. It made him happy to see him suffer. A grin pulled at the corner of his lip and he tilted his head in a mocking gesture.  
“You started something when you stole my bloody wife.”  
The man’s looked changed, from reassure and calm, to pensive and guarded. The dark red looked satisfying to Jackson, Too satisfying. It was proof that he was in pain and would no longer hurt the person he loved.  
“You don’t understand,” he said with even more resilience, his tone taut from both the pain and his own conscious.   
“You drugged and kidnapped my wife. What’s there not to understand?” Jackson had the upper hand. He knew it, and his vision was tilting because of it. His rage and anger and bloodlust fogged his vision until he got his hand around the man’s throat.  
“I love her.”  
The voice of the man was struggling and weak, but Jackson heard the words clear as day. He didn’t even try to control his hand and it squeezed the man’s neck. The tender skin felt good crushed between his fingers. The man’s eyes darted to the door behind him and Jackson couldn’t help but smirk. He simply released the man’s neck and he went crashing to the floor.   
The man made a sound of protest, but that didn’t stop Jackson from walking to the door, swinging it wide open with ease now, and striding in to save the one he loved.  
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he walking through the door. Actually, take that back. He knew exactly what he was going to see. Celia, tied to the bed or the wall, drugged and loopy. Not in her right mind. His mind was coming to every possible conclusion, trying to prepare himself for whatever he was going to see.  
What he was not expecting to see, however, was his wife laying peacefully on a bed, tucked under the covers and sleeping peacefully. Something inside Jackson twitched and he felt his teeth clench as his shoulders relaxed. His steps were slow and painful and his mind was static.  
“Celia.” Her name came out as a plea, as she took the last few steps to the bedside. One that was very obviously of nice quality.  
Celia’s long eyelashes fluttered as she watched. Jackson could’ve sworn she saw her pupils contract. “Jackson..”  
Jackson’s hand lifted to cup her cheek. Still as soft and fair as he’d always remembered it. He made a soft shushing noise and he leaned into her soft lips. Jackson felt all the tension melt away in his wives sweet lips.  
When he pulled away, she was smiling, albeit softly, and was there a hint of nervousness? “Jackson..” Her voice was soft and sweet like licorice and he couldn’t help but smile back. Her mouth opened to speak again. That was when the door closed.  
Jackson snapped around, knowing exactly what he’d see behind him. How in the bloody hell was he still alive? The man was reeling, gripping onto the door handle to stay upright. Blood matted his hair to the back of his head and there were bruises on his face. He was a complete fucking wreck  
“Noah-” he heard her wife choke out. It was a whine of noise like she was almost worried about the fucker. Jackson tensed and looked back around to face his wife. Her face was pale and her pupils were minuscule. He turned the possibilities over and over in his head, but nothing made sense, nothing connected. His wife couldn’t possibly care for this man. This man was trying to hurt her. This man was trying to hurt them.  
“Don’t tell me it’s true. Celia.” Jackson’s voice was soft and sweet, but it was soft and sweet in the wrong places. It was fake and he couldn't help but not care. His wife was looking at him innocently. Too innocently. It made Jackson want to scream.  
The shocked cry of pain his wife made as he hit her didn’t faze him one bit. Neither did the thump she made when she hit the floor. In fact, he smiled.  
“You. Fucking. Bitch.”   
Noah tried to take himself away from the door, foolishly thinking he could help her, but as soon as he let go of the door handle, he stumbled and fell to the floor.   
“Get away from her!”  
Jackson’s steps were slow and mocking, careful and torturously slow.  
“I trusted you,” he was laughing, a low, crazed sound, “I trusted you so fucking much. I trusted you with everything I had. And what did you do? You betrayed me.  
Celia was against the wall, trying to back up hopelessly like an animal in a cage. Jackson’s hand reached out to her and gently stroked her cheek, soft and smooth and full of betrayal.   
He could still hear the petty shouts of protest from the man behind him. That seemed to fuel him even more, as Jackson squeezed his wife’s cheek. The little sounds of hurt and pain and protest she made as she did it fueled him more.   
“Haven’t I always been good to you?”  
Celia nodded, feebly, weakly, and dumbly.   
“Haven’t I always been there for you?”  
Another nod.  
“Then why,” he paused to calm the edge rising in his voice, “would you mess around with someone like that?” He couldn't help the fire in his voice on the last word.  
Celia looked utterly terrified and meek. Just like she always had. It shouldn't really have surprised him. No one could possibly be that nice and innocent.  
It was obvious he wasn’t going to get a reply, so standing up cooly, he turned back to the door, mock relaxation taking over his body. He kicked the head of the man now on the floor, causing a sound of pain from both Noah and his “Wife”. He just sneered and closed the door.

Upon the door snapping shut, Celia found herself scuttling back over to the one she loved. The person who had gone through hell and back just to make sure she was safe. The man that would do anything for her and she would do anything for him. 

Celia fell asleep in the dying arms of Noah Erol.


End file.
